Dead leaves, rotting and soiled
Stinking of death and mold
Old naked trees whitened by age
Like wrinkled men, blind men who have seen too much
And lived through too many long hours of life
Grass not green, dead and flowerless
And the wind speaks only in a bitter caress
In the sky there is the color of sadness mixed with despair
A lone speck floats, a white speck
It falls towards the ground, grabbing onto a dead leaf and clinging to it
Before dying away into the brown lifelessness
But another falls behind it, and another and still others
And the air fills with the multitude
A mixture of purity and clear unabandoned hope
Many fall to the ground lost, but among those,
The crystals from the land of fog,
Live on, silently in the peace of the winter forest
The land of the dead becomes the land of light
Reflecting the sun.
And in the span of one night
What was once darkness
Becomes the land of the white.